


Things That Burn

by Lurlur



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Breaking and Entering, F/M, Post-Canon, Threats of Violence, Witchcraft, Ye Saga Continues, bookverse characterisation, but with a borrowed demon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28571067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Written for the Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2020. Post-canon adventure for Newt and Anathema as they try to process the events of Armageddon only to find themselves thrown straight back into occult matters. Who ransacked Jasmine Cottage? Is anywhere safe? What is the evil pun owl?
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2020





	Things That Burn

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for ladylier, who may or may not have an ao3 account!

The fire had burnt down quickly, making fast work of reducing the ancient paper to fine ash. A breeze lifted a few flakes and carried them away as the last of the flames died. Silence lingered between them for several more minutes and Newt knew that he couldn’t be the one to break it. This was Anathema’s time and he was merely an observer.

Besides, all of the words bouncing around his head were entirely inappropriate for the situation. They had just burnt the final legacy of a remarkable woman, a gift that had been kept safe for over three hundred years, and all that Newt could think about was footage of book burnings in recent history. He didn’t think that Anathema would appreciate the comparison.

She was still holding his hand, squeezing every now and then as if to remind him that she was there. He squeezed back, hoping that the gesture conveyed comfort and support rather than just crushing the bones of her hand. She seemed fragile now, a world away from the force of nature she’d embodied less than 24 hours before.

“We need to talk,” Anathema said at last, still looking at the smouldering ash.

Newt’s stomach dropped immediately, leaving him feeling sick and draining the blood from his face. He’d been expecting this. Of course he had. Without a prophecy pushing Anathema into his arms, he was never going to hold onto her.

“Right,” he said, managing to keep his voice level for the single word.

“About what happened yesterday, do you feel like it’s changed things?”

He had no idea how to answer. It wasn’t like they had really known each other before they’d had sex, there wasn’t an established friendship to ruin or future social events that might now be awkward. Newt searched for an appropriate response.

“I suppose not, not fundamentally,” he said, “I mean, virginity is a social construct of no real consequence.”

Laughing, Anathema twisted to look at him for the first time since he’d lit the small fire that would serve as Agnes’ final funeral pyre. A tear had left its trail down her cheek and, without thinking, Newt lifted his free hand to brush it away.

“I’m not talking about the sex! Honestly,” she said through a watery smile, “after everything that happened yesterday, _that’s_ the part that you’re stuck on?”

The blood that had so recently fled Newt’s face came rushing back with a vengeance, filling his cheeks until they burned.

“Well, uh- it was the most memorable part for me.”

“I don’t know whether that’s a compliment or not!” The rosy flush of Anathema’s cheeks suggested that this might not have been entirely true. “I just meant that we had some of the Big Questions answered yesterday, that’s the sort of thing that changes a person.”

Newt could hear the capitalisation in her voice, removing all ambiguity about what she was referring to.

He had spent his whole life wanting something to believe in, wanting the reassurance that comes with faith in something bigger than himself. Nothing had stuck and nothing had struck him as being worth his unwavering belief. Now, without warning or so much as a by-your-leave, he knew beyond all doubt that Heaven and Hell were real places, that there was a God with a Plan (whether the plan was Great or Ineffable was less clear), and even what the face of Satan looked like. Believing in it all now seemed a bit like believing in the postman; redundant and ineffective.

“Right,” he said again, aware that Anathema was still waiting for his response.

The thing was, when he allowed himself to examine it, that Newt didn’t feel different at all. He hadn’t had faith before and he didn’t have faith now. He had Knowledge and no idea how that might affect him.

“Yeah,” Anathema said. She started chewing on her thumbnail and staring into the middle distance.

About thirty seconds later than he liked, Newt realised that Anathema needed to talk about the reality-altering experience they’d been through together. She’d been trying to start a conversation and he had just shut it down with a single word.

“I mean, it feels surreal to just _know_ this stuff, doesn’t it?”

“Exactly!” Anathema jumped in almost before Newt had finished speaking. “I had Agnes and the occult stuff to believe in, but this is a whole different kettle of fish. It’s not even _belief_ , strictly speaking, is it?” Newt opened his mouth to answer but Anathema barrelled on, answering her own question. “There’s no _faith_ involved in this, in what we know now, it’s just fact. The sky is blue, grass is green, God exists, and Satan is an absent father.” She laughed weakly at that and the tone of it made Newt glance at her, dragging his attention away from the dying embers.

There were tears glistening along her lashes again. Newt felt out of his depth in a way he never had before, not even when faced with banks of flashing lights and impending nuclear doom. Crying women had always sent him into a panicky tailspin.

“Do you want me to go?”

Anathema blinked at him, looking far too much like a startled owl, and he knew he’d said the wrong thing again.

“I really don’t. Look,” she said, wiping her sleeve over her face, “what happened between us yesterday was fine, yeah? Heat of the moment and all that, plus an imprudent prophecy from my busybody ancestor. It doesn’t have to mean anything and I’m certainly not in love with you or whatever.” Newt attempted to laugh as if the idea was preposterous but it sounded hollow inside his own head. Anathema continued. “I just don’t have anyone else I can talk to about this stuff. Maybe it’s trauma-bonding, maybe it’s _ineffable-_ ” she said the word like it had bitten her “-but all I know is that I don’t want you to leave me alone right now.”

“Alright,” Newt said, “I’ll stay.”

They walked back to Jasmine Cottage in subdued silence. Anathema had let go of his hand when she’d stood up and Newt hadn’t known whether he could take it again so he just didn’t. The slight swing of his empty hand as he walked seemed to fill his entire mind so they were at the front gate before he managed to force out the question that had been gnawing at him for some time.

“What do you think you’re going to do now, without Agnes to follow, I mean?”

Anathema was fishing around in her voluminous coat pocket, presumably for the key to the cottage, but she froze at his question.

“I- I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about that.” She sounded very small and much younger than Newt had ever heard her.

When she pulled the heavy iron key from her pocket, her hands were shaking and Newt mentally kicked himself for his lack of tact.

“You’re smart, you have a lot of skills and passions, you’ll find something in no time.” He tried to offer a reassuring smile but Anathema wasn’t looking at him.

“That’s odd,” she said, reaching for the door with her free hand.

The wood was splintered around the lock where the door had been forced open. Newt snatched Anathema’s hand back just before she touched it.

“Don’t!”

“My fingerprints are going to be all over the place anyway, Newt,” she said, rolling her eyes, “the police will rule them out in the investigation.”

“I’m not sure the police will be much help.” He glanced up to the mantel above the door to draw Anathema’s attention. “It didn’t look like that when we left.”

The horseshoe that had protected Jasmine Cottage for generations had been reduced to a misshapen scorch mark.

“That’s not good.”

As understatements go, Newt thought that this one was an Olympic contender. His mind was racing in an attempt to come up with a plan but he was so far out of his depth that he didn’t even know where to begin. Everything seemed so still around them, as if the world was holding its breath and waiting for a decision.

“I’m going in,” he said, “it’s quiet so I don’t think they are still here, whoever it was. You can stay here or come with me, but I’m going first.”

Anathema just nodded, her face pale. Newt nudged the door open with his foot, letting it swing away from them under its own weight, just as Anathema’s hands gripped the sleeve of his jacket.

Stepping into the cottage, two things were immediately obvious. Firstly, the place had been completely ransacked. Furniture was strewn about the place and stuffing torn out of the cushions, it was as if a wild animal had been trapped inside. Secondly, the whole place reeked of rotten eggs.

They crept from room to room, looking for any sign of the culprit and assessing the damage. Occasionally, Anathema would gasp and snatch up some trinket or other and stuff it into her bag. At one point, Newt thought he saw her slip a bread knife in with her treasures.

“There’s no one here,” he said at last, letting some of the tension ease from his posture, “just this godawful stink.”

“Brimstone,” Anathema said, matter-of-factly, “whoever did this must have come from Hell.”

“Right, of course.” He shook himself a little. “Is there anything missing?”

“No, I don’t think so, although it’s difficult to tell with the place looking like this.” Anathema gestured lamely to the mess.

“You can’t stay here tonight, they were clearly looking for something and, if they didn’t find it, I’m pretty sure they’ll be back.”

Anathema nodded.

“There’s a guest house in the village, I can stay there.” She hesitated then, chewing her thumbnail again. “Would you stay with me? I can get you your own room or a twin room or something, it’s just that all the stuff I was saying before? That seems even more important now. I need someone with me who understands.”

“I’d sleep in Dick Turpin if I had to, there’s no way I’m leaving you alone in Tadfield tonight.” Newt hoped it wouldn’t come to that, though. He’d slept in his car once before and hadn’t been able to stand up straight for a month afterwards.

Anathema grabbed a few more essentials, as well as some items that Newt could only assume were essential for witches, and ushered him out of the house. Just as they closed the front door behind them, Anathema pulled a paper packet from her bag and poured the contents into her palm. She slapped her hands together and twisted them, grinding up whatever she was holding before blowing the resulting dust over the door.

“What does that do?” Newt asked as he followed her down the garden path, hurrying to keep up with her quick steps.

“It reminds any intruders that they are messing with a witch,” she said over her shoulder.

“Oh, is that it?” Newt didn’t mean to sound so underwhelmed but whoever had broken in likely knew who Anathema was.

“No,” she said, smiling, “it’s also a brilliant seasoning for fried mushrooms.”

After making several aborted attempts at language, Newt shook his head and fell into step with her. He didn’t think he was likely to get a more illuminating answer any time soon.

As luck would have it, the guest house had only one room available and that was due to a last minute cancellation. The last week of August had people taking advantage of the glorious weather and the Monday bank holiday. It was fine, whatever the room had to offer was going to be better than a night in Dick Turpin.

The owner showed them up to a surprisingly spacious room that took up most of the top floor. The exposed beams and small windows made the place feel cosy and welcoming without leaning too heavily on needless clutter. There was, of course, only one bed, but the area rug felt soft underfoot. Newt wasn’t too worried.

“My hair smells of paper smoke and brimstone,” Anathema said as soon as they’d been left alone, “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

Glancing at his watch, Newt wondered what he was supposed to say to that. It didn’t _feel_ like an invitation, but he’d never been good at working out if someone was coming onto him or not.

“Right, huh, it’s practically tea time.” He congratulated himself on yet another inane statement.

“Gosh, it is. And I’m starving. Could I be awfully cheeky and ask you to get something from the chippy?” Anathema rummaged in her bag until she found a little purse that looked like it should smell of patchouli and weed. She pulled out a twenty pound note and offered it to Newt with an apologetic look.

“Yeah, alright, what do you want?” He took the note, grateful for the chance to be useful.

“Chips and mushy peas, please. Lots of vinegar.” She grinned then, all teeth and cheeks. She might not be in love with Newt, but he wasn’t so sure he could say the same, not with the way his stomach clenched at the sight of her smile.

Before he could do anything mortifying, he went to leave the room, stopping multiple times to pick up the room key, his phone, the money he’d put on the dressing table for some reason, and then just to say goodbye with an awkward wave.

He replayed the whole embarrassing sequence over and over in his head as he plodded down the stairs and out into the early evening air. There was a small queue at the chip shop and by the time he got to the counter, he was so focused on getting Anathema’s order right that he almost forgot to order for himself.

What was he thinking, assuming that he could be of any use to Anathema in this situation? Fetching cups of tea was about all he’d ever been good at. Now it seemed that even a simple run to the chip shop was a complication too far for him to manage. Something from Hell was after Anathema and he wasn’t going to be able to do anything to help her.

She was smart, capable, and driven. She’d known everything that was going to happen just by deciphering the archaic ramblings of some old bat from the 1600s. Newt had only stumbled in at the last minute and bumbled his way through whatever part he was supposed to play. The most use he could be was as moral support for Anathema when she needed a reminder of how great she was. Maybe he could offer a friendly cuddle or reassuring word when she got overwhelmed.

With this new, adjusted mindset, Newt took the food back to their room and tried not to feel completely surplus to requirements.

Unlocking the door, he pushed it open slowly and announced himself to make sure that Anathema wasn’t caught unawares.

“It’s alright, come in,” she called out.

Anathema was sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing fleecy pyjamas with penguins on them, her damp hair piled up on top of her head, and a large bowl of water sitting on a towel in front of her. She looked up expectantly and held her hands out for her chips, her fingers making little grabby motions in her eagerness to get at her dinner.

Oh, and Newt was bewitched by her. So completely.

He handed her the bag and kicked off his shoes before sitting next to her and taking his own package of chips out of the bag. For a while, they just sat and ate in silence, letting the experience feel as normal as possible before inevitably diving back into the weirdness that their lives had become. Newt watched the way she dipped her chips into the pot of mushy peas, using the crispy ones to scoop some out, and thought about how completely pathetic he was.

“Alright, I’m stuffed,” Anathema said at last, balling up the layers of vinegar-sodden paper and stuffing them back into the carrier bag. “They’re never as good as the ones you grew up with, are they?”

She looked so dramatically maudlin that Newt shocked himself into a laugh and choked on a half-chewed chip. He coughed and spluttered until the chip was dislodged and what little remained of his dignity had evaporated.

“Chips at home would never try to choke me like that,” he said with a weak smile and runny eyes. “What’s with the bowl?”

It had been sat in front of them for their whole meal, ignored and untouched, but now Newt needed to deflect some attention and it was perfectly placed.

“Oh,” Anathema glanced at it as if she had forgotten all about it, “I was going to do some scrying while you were out but you were quicker than I expected.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you. Do I need to leave?”

Anathema blushed and looked away from him.

“You can stay, I think, I’ve just never done this with an audience.”

She was shy, Newt realised. She was worried about what he would think of her witchy behaviour and letting him stay was a big display of trust. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to remind her that he already knew how many nipples she had.

“I’ll be as quiet as a church mouse,” he promised, scooting away to give her some space. Her answering smile was like sunlight breaking through clouds.

From the space between her knees, Anathema picked up a small, red candle, and a plastic lighter. With her tongue poking out the side of her mouth, she sparked the lighter and lit the candle. She rolled the candle gently in her hand, letting the flame lick at the high points of wax until she had a good pool of melted material in the hollow at the top.

Staring at the flame, she tipped the candle over the bowl and let drips of wax fall into the water before blowing it out. She set it aside on the edge of the towel under the bowl.

Newt was transfixed and utterly lost. He had no idea what was happening but every faith that Anathema was firmly in control and completely in her element. He watched her peer into the bowl, brushing an errant lock of hair out of her eyes as she examined her very important wax blobs.

The slightest crease of a frown appeared between her eyebrows and her mouth thinned as she stared into the bowl. Newt decided to remain hopeful, even as her frown deepened and the silence stretched on.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Anathema said at last, looking up and blinking rapidly.

“What is?” Newt asked, leaning closer but otherwise waiting to be invited.

“Come over here and tell me what you see,” she said, moving away to give Newt space in front of the bowl.

He walked over on his knees and peered in, wondering what he was supposed to be looking for. At the very least, he didn’t want to say anything completely inappropriate.

The silver bowl reflected the light of the room, making the red wax blobs stand out in stark contrast. He saw a number of nondescript shapes floating on the surface, moving slowly, but none of them looked like anything he could recognise. Nervously, he looked up at Anathema but she just gave him an encouraging nod and waited for him to speak.

One of the blobs flipped over and he laughed on impulse.

“That one looks like a lizard!”

Suddenly, all of the blobs made sense. It was as if they’d been brought into focus in front of his eyes. There was a pointy hat and a book, a flame and a lightning bolt, a bent sword and a bottle.

“It’s not a lizard, is it?” he asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“I don’t think so, no,” Anathema said quietly.

“It’s a newt.”

Tight-lipped and worried, Anathema nodded.

There was, Newt decided almost immediately, absolutely no reason to panic. He didn’t know what any of this meant. He wasn’t even sure that it _did_ mean anything. It was just wax blobs from a candle that smelt distinctly of apple and cinnamon, now that he thought about it. His imagination was just playing tricks on him, that’s all it was.

“I’ve never seen anything this clearly before. Of course, there has to be interpretation and all that, but that’s an actual newt and a witch’s hat, you see that, right?” Anathema sounded rattled and that wasn’t helping Newt’s decision to not panic.

“I see it, but I don’t understand it,” he admitted.

Anathema moved closer, pressing into Newt’s side so that she could point out various shapes to him. This also did not help his decision to not panic.

“Scrying, like all divination, is an art, not a science, so what we see and how we interpret it is always down to the individual witch. There’s the newt and the hat, that’s you and me, I think that the book is Agnes and the flame represents what we did today with burning the book. I don’t fully see how the sword, lightning, and bottle all fit in but I’m sure it will become clear soon enough, don’t you worry.” Anathema was rambling and her voice sounded just like Newt’s teacher had when he was seven years old and she’d had to explain to the class that the nice man who taught music wouldn’t be coming back: strained with forced cheerfulness.

“Why has this got you so rattled?”

“Me? You’re the one trembling!” It was the first time he’d really heard her snap and that’s really what did it for him.

“Actually, I think that’s both of us,” Newt said, aware that he was shaking at least as much as Anathema but determined not to let it get the best of him. “Come on, let’s leave this and try to relax instead, yeah?” He stood and picked up the bowl, putting it on the dressing table where they wouldn’t have to think about it. “It’s been a tough day all around, I’m sure we’re just tired.”

He offered her his hand and helped her up from the floor.

“It’s still early,” Anathema said, a touch more petulantly than Newt expected.

“We don’t have to sleep, we can find something mindless on the telly, or play a game, or get horrifically drunk. There are lots of options for two wild young adults like us!”

Anathema looked down at her penguin pyjamas and then up at Newt’s sensible jumper and jean combination.

“Yeah, _wild_ ,” she sniggered.

“Telly then?”

Anathema nodded and flopped onto the bed, reaching for the remote on the bedside table.

“Do you think they have a bar downstairs?”

Newt laughed and fished in his pocket for Anathema’s change from dinner.

“You want me to see what I can get with this?” he asked and was given a firm nod of approval. “Alright, red or white?”

“White, please,” Anathema said as she shoved pillows around to make herself comfortable.

As he left the room again, Newt heard a muted “thank you” called out after him and smiled.

By the time he returned, a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other, Anathema had found some cheesy old sword-and-sorcerer film to watch and burrowed into the bed like an animal preparing for winter.

“Comfy?” he asked, pouring the wine and handing her a glass.

“Very,” came her muffled response as one hand reached out and claimed her wine, bringing it back into the confines of her nest.

For a moment, Newt was lost. He had thought that they would both sit on the bed but with Anathema wrapped up in all the bedding, that seemed too intimate now. He was torn between the uncomfortable looking chair in the corner, or perching on the edge of the bed and trying to be as uncreepy as possible.

“For goodness sake, Newt,” Anathema said, poking her head out of the duvet, “there’s room for you up here. Just take your jumper off so you don’t die of heatstroke!”

He was blushing again in an instant, but at least he had the good sense to put his glass down before wriggling out of his jumper and making his way into the cosy nest.

The film was very silly and Anathema took great delight in making fun of it at every opportunity. Newt couldn’t remember a time when he’d laughed so much at so little, but her running commentary on everything from the strategic wardrobe choices of the damsel to the imagined impact on the local economy had Newt in fits. She was so effortlessly funny and insightful that Newt wanted to hear her tear apart every film that had ever been made, even his favourites. There wasn’t a thing in the world that wouldn’t be improved by having Anathema and her witty observations beside him.

The bottle of wine came to an end right when the credits began to roll, and Anathema had stretched out from her initial huddle into a long line of warmth and sarcasm.

“Sleep time, I think,” Newt said softly and began to slip off the side of the bed.

Anathema reached out for him, grasping blindly.

“Sleep in the bed, is OK, OK? OK.” Anathema clearly considered the issue settled and rolled over, taking more than half the duvet with her.

“I don’t think-”

“Bed. Don’t make me ask,” said the lump of bedding where Anathema had been.

As much as Newt wanted to maintain an objective view of the situation, he couldn’t help but notice an edge to Anathema’s voice. An edge that seemed to speak of desperation and loneliness. With that in mind, he stripped down to his t shirt and boxers, and slipped into the bed beside her.

“You going to let me have some of the covers?” he asked as he tugged on the duvet to cover himself.

Anathema merely grumbled and released her grip on the bundle she was holding, letting Newt get himself settled. He reached over to turn off the lights, whispered a goodnight to Anathema, and laid in the dark whilst trying very hard not to breathe too loudly.

Newt awoke with a mouthful of hair, a beam of sunlight directly in his eyes, and Anathema clinging to him like a koala. Whatever distance they’d maintained between themselves the evening before had been eradicated by eight hours of unconsciousness and a heat-seeking witch. As he had upon waking up with Anathema the previous morning, Newt thought about how very lovely it was to start the day with her so close. He thought he’d quite like to start all of his days in her spider monkey embrace, even if it meant having to cough up the occasional hairball.

Pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head, Newt began the business of unravelling himself from her limbs. She was still too deeply asleep to be disturbed by his careful movements, so he was able to sneak out of the bed and into the little ensuite bathroom to freshen himself up a bit. Not for the first time, he regretted having not brought a change of clothes on his trip to Tadfield but, well, it wasn’t like he’d expected an overnight stay when he’d first set out.

With Anathema still softly snoring, he decided to pop into the village and see whether he could find anything useful in the shops. At the very least, he could pick up a newspaper and start looking for leads.

A little over an hour later, when Anathema finally sat up, rubbed her eyes, and tried to pat down her bird’s nest of hair, Newt had got himself set up at the dressing table with the local newspaper and a couple of the more sensational tabloids. In lieu of his witch-finding scissors, he’d taken to circling articles with a thick felt tip pen.

“Morning!” he said brightly, looking at Anathema in the mirror, “Did you sleep well?”

Anathema stretched and swivelled out of the bed, nodding her answer as she crossed the room to peer over his shoulder.

“What _are_ you doing?”

Feeling his cheeks warm, Newt quickly wondered how to explain himself without sounding like a complete nutcase.

“Research?”

“For what?” Anathema asked, picking up one of the tabloids and flicking through it.

“Any, um, supernatural activity, I suppose. This is how I knew to come to Tadfield. You know that I’m no good with computers, so I had to get good at doing things the more old-fashioned way.”

Anathema nodded, still flipping pages of the newspaper in her hands and chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully.

“Looking for new witches to befriend, are you?”

“No! Nothing like that!” Newt couldn’t deny the accusation fast enough, completely missing the sparkle of mischief in Anathema’s eyes as she batted him with the newspaper.

“Give over, I’m only teasing,” she said, “found anything noteworthy, though?”

It took a moment for Newt to feel composed enough to respond, flustered as he was. Finally, he opened a couple of the papers to pages he’d marked.

“Actually, I have,” he said, patting each relevant story in turn. “There are a few reports of a very peculiar storm in the early hours of Sunday morning. And, at least two witnesses claim to have seen people coming out of the ground during the storm.”

“What’s so peculiar about the storm for it to be reported in multiple papers?” Anathema asked, squinting in a way that shouldn’t have been adorable but, unfairly, was.

“Apparently, the rain and lightning were going _up,_ ” Newt said with the air of someone laying down a royal flush at the poker table.

“OK, that is pretty unusual. Where was it?”

Newt grinned.

“The Devil’s Punch Bowl.”

Anathema frowned.

“Bit on the nose, isn’t it? And it’s over an hour’s drive from here. Are you sure it’s related?”

Newt had to admit that, no, he wasn’t sure. He actually was very rarely sure about anything, if he was inclined to be honest about it, but he had a _feeling_ and that feeling said that they should be heading to Surrey. Luckily, Anathema put a great deal of stock in feelings and hunches.

Anathema also put a lot of stock in breakfast, so she insisted that they eat before packing up the car and heading south.

“I think there’s a pub on the edge of the bowl where I can park, then maybe you’ll be able to use your witch powers or something to tell which way we should go.” Newt said once they were off the main road.

Anathema gave a sharp sniff in response which suggested that she didn’t appreciate her occult skills being referred to as “witch powers” but also that she did indeed have some way of divining the direction they should take. A few more minutes passed in silence.

“Are we sure that this is really the smartest idea?” Anathema asked, voicing the question that had been rattling around Newt’s head for the past 40 miles. “I mean, we’re expecting demons, right? Maybe we should be running away and hiding instead of delivering ourselves to them.”

“Do you think we would be able to hide? Honestly?” Newt said, his eyes fixed on the road.

“I suppose not.”

“I don’t know if this is smart or stupid, but I feel like this is our best option. If they just wanted to kill us, they could have done that already.” Newt tried to make this sound as sensible and ordinary as possible.

“What about the pair from the airbase the other day? Maybe they could help us?” Anathema was chewing on her thumbnail again and Newt found that he wanted to pull it away from her mouth.

“I didn’t exactly exchange contact details with them after everything that happened, did you?” Newt said, “Besides, would you really trust them any more than any other angels or demons?”

“A little,” Anathema said before slouching back, “but not much. Yeah, alright. Point taken.”

They pulled into the car park of a large, white building with a red tile roof. The paint was peeling off the walls and several of the windows had been smashed. The sign on the front read “EVIL PUN OWL” and there was a severely optimistic “for sale” banner hanging between two of the first floor windows.

“Oh dear, this place looked better the last time I was here,” Newt said as he got out of the car.

“Newt?”

“I mean, that was during a school trip when I was 12, but still.”

“Newt.”

“You don’t expect things to change while you aren’t looking, do you?”

“Newt!” Anathema yelped, finally getting his attention. “I don’t think we’ll need to worry about which way to go from here.”

He walked around Dick Turpin to where Anathema stood, still clinging to the door. The inhuman shine of three pairs of eyes was visible through the ground floor window nearest to the car. They were being watched.

“Oh, crumbs,” Newt said and he took hold of Anathema’s hand without thinking twice about it.

For a whole minute, no one moved. The eyes stared at them, unblinking and eerie, and they stared back, waiting and uncertain.

“I don’t want to go in,” Newt said at last.

“No, no, me neither,” Anathema agreed in a whisper, “but what do we do?”

Newt tried, as hard as he could, to believe that there was a plan that involved him. He tried to believe that he would know the right thing to do when the opportunity arose, and that he would be alright because he was a cog in a machine that needed all its moving parts.

“Hello in there!” he called out, hearing Anathema gasp beside him, “We’ve come to speak with you. Would you mind coming out here?”

Anathema’s grasp of his fingers was threatening to cut off the circulation but he had a suspicion that he was squeezing her hand just as hard. Together, they waited for a response.

Slowly, the eyes moved closer until the shapes of faces were visible around them. Three identical men climbed out of the window and then all attempted to affect the same casual lean against the wall. Their clothes were dark and tattered in that way that suggested it might be deliberate, Newt had never been able to tell the difference and had complimented several homeless men on their outfits and, once, given a fiver to a model taking a break from a photo shoot so he could get something to eat. Their hair was styled into tall horns or rabbit ears which made them look a bit nervy and startled.

“Did you bring the book?” asked one of the men.

“What book?” Anathema replied, sounding firm.

“The next prophecy book, we know it was delivered to you.”

Newt shot an anxious glance at Anathema and saw her expression turn grim.

“Why do you want it?” she called back.

The centre man, no, Newt corrected his thought, the centre _demon_ pushed away from the wall and walked closer. He lacked all of the swagger and confidence of the demon they had met at the airbase but Newt found that he was still quite petrified.

“My masters want knowledge of the future, the next Armageddon, a way to hasten the end of the world and the great, glorious war that will follow.”

“Erm, should you be telling her all that?” called one of the demons still trying to look cool by the pub wall.

“Why not?” snapped the first demon, “no one said we couldn’t.”

“We can just kill them after we get the book anyway,” said the third. Newt disliked him the most.

“There is no book,” Anathema said, cutting over the beginnings of their squabble, “we burnt it yesterday morning.”

The demons were shocked into silence and Newt took the chance to speak.

“It’s true. It’s all gone and good riddance.”

He really hoped that the part about killing them was predicated on the demons getting the book first, otherwise they had just given away their only bargaining chip.

“No, no, no, no, no,” the second demon chanted to himself.

“Burnt? On purpose?” asked the first, coming closer. Newt squeezed Anathema’s fingers and refused to back away.

“Oh fuck,” said the third before hopping back through the window and disappearing from sight.

“We aren’t going to have our lives dictated to us by long dead ancestors. The prophecies are gone.” Anathema stuck out her chin and, if he hadn’t been scared out of his mind, Newt would have kissed her right then. She was so brave.

“You read them, you must have,” said the first demon, still advancing slowly, “you read them and then destroyed the only copy so they couldn’t be stolen. We’ll take you and torture you until you tell us every word that was written in it. We won’t be fooled so easily.”

The demon who had gone back into the pub reappeared at the window with a bottle of gin in each hand. He passed one to the demon still chanting his denial and took a long swallow from the other before leaning his elbows on the windowsill and watching the scene in the car park. Newt found the action so at odds with the situation he was facing that it took considerable effort to drag his attention back to the conversation.

“We didn’t read a word of it,” he managed to say, “we didn’t even untie the string to open it. We can’t tell you anything about it.”

“Liar!” screamed the demon in front of them, now close enough for Newt to grab if he were so inclined. “You’re lying. Everyone knows that humans can’t resist temptation, you wouldn’t have been able to just burn the book without sneaking a look at it first.”

Newt really hoped that demons weren’t able to read minds.

“We didn’t read it, not a word. Well, nothing past the cover page, I suppose,” he admitted.

“Your lies are falling apart already! We’ll torture the rest out of you in no time, so the rest of your eternity of torture can just be for fun! Our fun, that is. Not yours.”

“Obviously,” Newt muttered.

“You won’t get anything out of us,” Anathema said, the same defiant look still on her face even as her hand trembled in Newt’s. “No matter how hard you try, no matter how long you dedicate to it, we’ll never tell you anything because _there isn’t anything to tell!_ ”

The demon staggered back in the face of Anathema’s declaration.

“What?!” he demanded.

“You’re right, I did peek at the book before we burnt it. I couldn’t help myself and I looked. Every single page was blank. Besides the title page, there wasn’t one word written in the whole thing. No amount of torture is going to change that, is it?”

Newt gaped at her, wondering when she could have possibly looked at the book without him knowing. She had asked not to be left alone with it so as to resist the temptation. He’d even taken it into the bathroom with him when he’d needed a wee. She might have been bluffing, but still, it was a big risk.

“Then we’ll just kill you now and be done with it.” The demon had lost most of his bravado now.

Newt took half a step forward and tried to get between the demon and Anathema. If all he could do was buy her a few more seconds of thinking time, it might be worthwhile.

“I don’t think that’s a smart idea,” Newt said, wondering what the next thing out of his mouth might be. “What if there are other packages? Or Anathema is destined to receive visions of the future? Would you want to risk that?”

The demons exchanged worried glances, clearly unused to improvising. They hadn’t expected to lose control of this situation so thoroughly. Newt chanced a look at Anathema and even managed a weak smile of encouragement.

He turned back just in time to see the third demon drop his now-empty gin bottle and lurch out of the window again. In a moment that felt both like slow motion and a split-second, the demon launched himself across the loose gravel of the car park to tackle Newt around the waist. As they hit the floor, Newt felt something crunch and then a flood of wetness spreading across his body. The demon must have had a blade of some sort and now Newt was going to bleed out in the car park of a third rate tourist attraction.

Someone was screaming and Newt supposed it was probably him. There was no need to worry about not making a fool of himself when he was moments from death. The weight holding him down grew weaker until he couldn’t feel it at all. Finally he looked down to try and see how much blood he’d lost already only to see that his chest was covered in a bubbling, greasy ooze. The screaming sounded different now and Newt became aware that, actually, that wasn’t his voice.

Pushing himself up off the floor and trying to brush off the worst of the ooze, Newt tried to understand what had happened. The demon who had tackled him was nowhere to be seen, but the other two were screaming hysterically.

“Fuck that! I’d rather face the hell hounds again!” yelled the demon by Anathema.

He bolted back to the pub and grabbed the other demon by the collar, yanking him up to his feet.

“You can fix my cottage before you go!” Anathema called out, grinning wildly.

The demon glared but snapped his fingers in a way that left a smell of ozone in the air and the taste of pennies at the back of Newt’s throat.

“Never going near another witch again,” said the demon before a column of fire roared up from the ground and dragged both demons back down to Hell.

For a moment, Newt and Anathema just stared at each other, unable to process what had just happened. Anathema broke the silence with a laugh that didn’t so much border hysteria as invade and colonise it.

“I really didn’t think they’d buy my bluff, but then you just _melted_ one of them and all bets were off!” Anathema said once she got her breath back. “How did you do that?”

Newt shrugged helplessly, he had no idea what had happened. Something sharp jabbed him in the side as he moved, and when he stuck his hand in his pocket to investigate, he managed to slice his fingertip on a piece of broken glass.

“Oh, it’s the holy water that Sergeant Shadwell gave me. It must have smashed when the demon tackled me.”

“Lucky,” Anathema said, smiling, “or perhaps ineffable.”

Newt returned her smile and went to open his arms for a hug before thinking better of it and shuffling off his jacket first. There were bits of melted demon smeared all across the front.

Anathema stepped into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his back, squeezing him gently. He was just admiring how well the top of her head fit under his chin when he remembered a thought from earlier.

“When did you look at the book? I thought I was really good at keeping you away from it!”

She giggled and hid her face against his shoulder.

“I didn’t,” she admitted, “I thought that if they weren’t going to accept the truth, there was no harm in attempting a lie.”

Newt could see the wisdom in that and it put his mind at ease. Maybe one day he’d tell her just how right she’d been about the contents of the manuscript. For now, she still needed to feel good about taking her destiny into her own hands and he wasn’t going to take that away from her.

He pulled away just enough to be able to see her face, checking on her, but Anathema lifted her chin and reached up for him, drawing his lips down to meet hers in the first kiss they had shared that hadn’t felt pre-ordained.

He’d drive her home after this, make sure that the cottage was back to normal, and see if she had any plans for dinner. It wasn’t love yet, but the seed was there and had begun to germinate.


End file.
